


a cliché is a cliché because it works

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boyfriends, F/M, Hammertime - Freeform, Homestuck - Freeform, Incomplete, M/M, Pepsicola, bros, johndave - Freeform, oh and dave smokes, probs gonna stay that way, the yaoi, watch out for smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>john visits dave over the summer.</p><p>some really corny things happen, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive been fixing this, but it isnt rly fixed, so youll just have to bear with me rn. sorry.
> 
> also the pesterlog took way, way longer to format than i thought it would lol

\--tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]at 12:40pm--  
TT: You know, meeting John in person isn't going to be as ignominious as you're expecting it to be.  
TT: A little bird told me that he, too, is suffering a pre-rendezvous rattle.  
TT: Of course there will be the awkward vibe and the realization that typing to someone is on another spectrum than expressing verbal form of thought, as to be expected from any circumstance such as this, but nothing that will not wash off over time.  
TT: Physical and oral communications will alter the dynamic of your relationship, but by no standards will it be too drastic, Dave.  
TT: Rest assured. Your thriving bromance will remain intact. May it even flourish.  
TT: I'd give it the night or even less--two or three hours--of shuffling around as if you've lost your Broca's areas before your relations morph into what they should be.  
TG: ok yeah but allow me to drop the foreplay of aimless chitchat we usually delve into  
TG: insert frigid as hell sardonic witty metaphors and monologue of me here that put the chilliest place known to man to shame  
TG: probably some crevice in the atlantic or a hole in antarctica  
TG: the frosty ass sphincter of a penguin  
TG: yeah those. those are precisely the hyperborean areas that would be jeopardized if i didnt have bigger peas in my porridge  
TG: thats not even my complete concern rose  
TG: not that im going to turn my head at the fact youve been piddlin around in my affairs  
TG: which btw was totally unorthodox and caught me by surprise  
TG: who does that, even  
TG: it feels as if every day is a battle with yourself to clock another time in the 3.5 mile footrace to sate the desires of that preternatural reflex you have to ruin my sense of privacy  
TG: anyway  
TG: while unsettling i think that i have still got way larger things weighing on my paws  
TG: i.e what if he gets all abhorred by the fact that i smoke or the fact that sometimes when i spit into the sink it sprays a little  
TG: what if in some rush of excitement i bear hug him way way to tautly for his liking  
TG: perhaps he despises the sick "hipster jungle" i live in and cringes  
TG: or wants to slap the southern genes right outta when i slip into "aint" and "darlin"  
TG: simply comes to the legit revelation that he hates me as a whole for anything  
TG: oh god i sound so bellyaching dont i  
TG: i mean john that guy couldnt loathe someone if they took pins to his nerves seven ways to sunday  
TG: ok well it might take less than that cause there happens to be a breaking point for everybody but the sentiment withstands that i could never manage to gain his disdain on such a whim  
TG: right  
TT: Ah. So I see. That's your concern.  
TT: Dave, nobody in their correct state of mind would willingly put time and resources aside for visiting someone they were lukewarm about.  
TT: Mandatory visitation tends to render a less positive response from nanosecond one.  
TT: This is a willing situation, and John appears to have expressed adequate, incontestable feelings of friendship towards you; we note that you and Mister Egbert here have attached yourselves to one another.  
TT: Perhaps he will experience displeasure in the way you handle the brushing of your teeth or the compression of your embraces, but it does not imply that he strongly dislikes you as a person.  
TT: Everybody has their pros and cons, quirks and points of contention with other people.  
TT: Aside from that, these possible minor squabbles may build on your relation with him. Each half respecting and accepting the other is critical for any friendship to develop.  
\--tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]at 1:20pm--  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh

Dave Strider has been awaiting his guest for what feels like forever. Maybe a little more than forever, he decides, but when he glances down to his watch he's told different.

John had called him at the start of his flight from Washington to give him an eta.  
Only a few hours, he had assured over the line in his voice that was still rather nasal despite the puberty he went through.  
Fuck. What if the plane he is on crashes, and shit hits the fan, leaving John to never actually shake hands with the oh-so-magnificent Dave Strider himself in a shockingly horrid turn of events? Or, what would be worse, is that John finds him to be what he actually is, which a lame, curtained blogger?  
No. He would fret about that in any other circumstance, but the Egbert kid knows Dave astoundingly well, and whatever opinion he has of the guy is obviously positive enough to convince him that coming to Houston was a good idea.

Nonetheless, Dave Strider feels achingly sick to his tummy for a hot minute. He could hurl. He sits on the roof of his apartment in the Houston heat with his legs swinging idly over the edge of practically steaming cement. Red converses sit stories above a city street, fidgeting anxiously. He takes a deep breath and a stab at breathing the everpresent butterflies away, though he can't seem to regather his cool no matter what he does. It's ridiculous, really.  
Put it on ice, Dave. You're acting like a little girl. Might as well give you pigtails and a lollipop.  
That's his Bro's snarky voice in his head, mocking him for being such a pansy, although his brother probably wouldn't say something so harsh. He doesn't think. Besides, that wasn't Bro actually speaking to him at all. Bro just finished banging some British guy that wears swamp green undies on the couch.

Speaking of absent authority.. Oh man. He should not succumb to the urge to do _it_ \--something so fucking revolting--but he does, and so a pack of Marlboros pops out of his sylladex and into his lap unceremoniously. The film around the container glisters attractively in the sunlight; and, right after, a generic blue lighter flops onto Dave's skinny jeans with a not-so-memorable patting sound. He does not need to do this. Factually, he could hit the brakes right now. He holds the option to toss that pack off of the building; go to the roof hose and drown it to a useless state; completely annihilate the pack before he gets sucked into the habit. He knows he won't do that. In a way, it's ironic that he is highly aware of his very own naivete.  
Maybe he'll rap too, to calm his boiling nerves.  


He puffs out what will be the final cloud of cigarette smoke because a taxi's coming to a halt in a parking lot. He sees the yellow float right beneath his legs, but more specifically, it floats into **his** complex's parking lot. Immediately, he smashes the measly nub on the ledge next to his thigh. Flicking the roach onto the bustling world below, he realizes that he would rather John's first real impression of him to be anything but that of a trashy smoker, though he absolutely is one.  
Dave is quick to get on his feet and even more deft when he slips through the halls, down the stairs, and to the very base of the building where John is supposed to be clambering out with his bags. He pops a peppermint, as a precaution, prior to heading back outside into the humidity and scorching sunlight.

There he is. The perky, blue-eyed kid.. no, no, _man_ , who matched every single video call and picture Dave saw of him to the point. Well, exempt from the fact that this was non-pixelated. HD. It frightened him to know that John could see his every flaw. The Egbert owned the same unblemished tanned skin, the same buck teeth that could be patented with how identifiable they were, and the same tussled, wily ebony locks that could be a sea of tangles. A sea of tangles that, although he would never confess to it, Dave himself wanted to card his fingers through and pet in admiration and affection. He seriously just wanted to lavish the hell out of John from the moment he laid eyes on him.  
God, he feels incredibly disoriented.  
"Hi Dave!"  
Woah, when did John get right in front of him? When did his voice get so incredibly precious and chirpy despite the fact that it was the tone of a young adult?? It sounded a tad different in person, yet it was the exact same voice he heard during late night face-times and Steam gaming. In person he relishes it more.  
Dave takes the hand that's offered to him once he snaps back into reality.  


Few words are exchanged. Hardly a minute of averting gazes and um's later, Dave is guiding John up the flights of stairs to the Strider slice of the building, which is the highest floor of them all. He lugs John's suitcase behind him out of what can only be explained as an act of true kindness, because the thing must weigh about 52 pounds altogether, or maybe it can be mistaken for so much because Dave feels weak, queasy internally. Yeah, probably; it's fault to that.  
The entrance room is rather askew. It's dim and cool. For a minute, he had hoped that the place would be darker than oblivion so that John didn't have to see his half-naked Bro and some knocked out guy sprawled all over one another like a human pretzel. A super duper unsatisfactory human pretzel.  
His wordless wishes go ignored. When he shoulders into the living space, the blinds are lifted and let in just enough light to make the two men on the couch identifiable.

Apologetically, he glances back to John, though he still says nothing. Not until they reach his room, at least.

"Hahaha. I don't care, I guess. We should prank him together, maybe. One of these days." His tone is suggestive while he glances around and throws his main bag of clothes on the bed.  
"Yeah, but he'd beat me to fucking hell and back for that; and it isn't like I'm not about to get in huge trouble for inviting you in without his permission."  
"Likely. It might be worth it, though."  
"I plan on scribbling a note like the genius I am.. leave the apartment for a few solid hours before he wakes up."  
"So we're gonna go somewhere?"  
"Yeah."

John walks into the bathroom to get his hygiene items situated.  
"Wha- Can it get any nastier in here? It's like as mucky as the vaginal flaps of a fly."  
"I was going to say 'filthy as the late 80's drive-in of dirty dancing' but alright, I can see where you're coming from," he responds with a shrug.  
How bad can it be? Dave peeks in, studying the clumps of blue-and-white toothpaste in the sink and spray of foamy spit on the mirror, as well as the razors that he and Bro both use, combs, hairsprays left uncapped. 

"Like, ew! How are you even living with your bathroom like this? How hasn't it eaten away at your subconsciously guilty soul?"  
"Don't complain unless you plan on giving it a makeover and an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World, Opera," the blond boy shoots back.

John gives Dave the hairy eyeball through his glasses and shakes his head. He sets his deoderant, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, all else out by the sink and brushes past Dave.

"Where are we going?"

\---------------------------------------

"My ass has been placed neatly on the punting frame."  
"Bro's gonna kick it farther than Randy Bullock could ever fathom."

Dear Bro,  
Put the whipping on my fluffy cream ass when I get home.  
Do it like Aerosol.  
I took the bunny outta the box, man, sorry that I didn't warn you about those stairs. 

"That's the best 'fuck you' I've ever read, Dave."

\---------------------------------------

"Scone and Caramel Macchiato."  
"Vanilla Latte."

Dave and John must have sat down at Starbucks for hours.  
They both had their laptops and headphones, sat across from one another and opened them up lid-to-lid.

The Strider blogs, and John watches Con Air and giggles to himself softly over it in the corner of the cluttered coffee shop. Neither of them have their sound devices loud, and both agree to spare one ear for conversation.

Dave looks up and clears his throat.  
"Yo, John."  
His bro's blue eyes flick from the screen to his face curiously.  
"Mmm."

"So tell me, are you and shake-it-Serket still hot for each other?" Not like Dave cares personally; honestly, he yearns to know whether or not his creeping suspicions can be confirmed true that the relationship wouldn't last very long. He observes John's little gloomy melt, or decline in enthusiasm as he clicks to pause his Nic Cage film.

"Yeah, but to be honest, when I'm around Vriska it feels like she's bitching about me all the time--like she's Chelsea Handler and I'm some trans Mariah Carey, I guess."  
"Damn. So are you two broken up officially, or-?"  
"It got complicated. I just don't feel like talking to her anymore when she is constantly putting me down, wimpy as that is at first glance. Feel me?"  
"I could never envision you as the Hit-Girl to that bitch's Kick-Ass, man. I'm really glad that you wouldn't settle for her gross scam."

John smiles a bit at Dave for some reason, it looks reluctant as if he's attempting to diss the subject because he continues on to tell Dave about a sheep named Shrek that they found with sixty pounds of wool on it in a cave 6 years after it ran away. The conversation varies from thing to thing. What they mailed each other for birthdays, childhood memories of times Bro put firecrackers in Dave's bed, how much John would die for a pice of pumpkin pie (which Dave later raps about).

"Oh man, for Miley's birthday she bleached her eyebrows, and now she looks like Spongebob's twin sister on heroin. Holy fuck," he snickers and shows John a picture of her on his computer.  
"I would still tap it."  
"Totally, bro."  
"Did you know that Avril Lavigne is getting hitched with Nickelback?"  
"They did a trashy love song together, I'm p positive. What was it, some cheap-ass excuse for a title.. 'Let Me Go'? Grab my buds man, right now. You gotta take a listen 'cause we're making this happen."

It finally lands somewhere on Jade and her little obsession with a certain Vantas boy.

"Why doesnt Jade just get on one knee and pour her heart out to the dude already?" John frowns, pulling the olive straw out of his coffee to lick the white cream.  
"She's always wedged up his sour asstube, sucking him up like a half-off pixie stick at the zoo. It's either 'I hate him, why won't he quit trolling me?' or 'Fuck, he needs to send me pics of his dick already.'”  
The Egbert kid snorts blandly after shoving his straw back into the drink, "Look, I'm just tired of it, is all. Heck, I think I can endure a couple more months of tanglebuddies and the near pornographic idioms in there. Anything but that ornery guy."  
"Agreed."

\---------------------------------------

Eventually, the conversation dies down and Dave grows bored of reblogging things and rapping dryly with little to no inspiration for slam poetry. He grows restless, tapping and twittering in his seat until eventually he speaks up.  


"You wanna go fester in our nooses at the mall, broskeet?"  
John tilts his head barely, only Dave's noticing this tiny movement because he's focused on John right through his mirror shades. _Best friend isn't all that bad looking_ , he realizes in the least homosexual manner possible.  
"Why would we do that?"  
Dave gets up to grab his trash, shifts his weight onto a hip, and pops out a hand in a melodramatic manner. "Because your nails look like you soaked them in Kim Kardashian's pornstar reputation, babe."  
Insert faux hair flip here.  
"Did you just call me babe?"

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know if ill ever finish this


End file.
